Look Away
by APHFalenchoFail
Summary: -FrUs- Francis Bonnefoy saw star football player Alfred F. Jones, raped in an alleyway. -TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF HARM, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, AND RAPE-
1. Chapter 1

It was all a blur, but Francis Bonnefoy saw star football player Alfred F. Jones get _raped._

Yet he didn't do anything to help.

In an alleyway, behind apartments. It was a quicker way to get to your home.

Francis himself was walking home,and he saw Alfred dart behind the buildings. Curiosity spiked, Francis followed him. Alfred didn't act shifty or anything, but he still was worried.

That's when a body jumped onto Alfred. Clothes ripped and Alfred's backpack was slung across into a trashcan.

What could he do? He simply ran away when it finished up, and guilt filled him up. He should of done something.

Something.

Something.

 _Something._

 _ **SOMETHING.**_

 **2 weeks later-**

Alfred didn't go to school for two weeks. Francis at first worried if Alfred was sick, or truly hurt, but when Alfred came back he was chipper. Happy. Joyful.

Francis watched Alfred across the cafeteria laugh loudly as he took a swig of his coke. However, Francis noticed a long cut across his cheek. Francis for a moment thought he imagined it.

Someone nudged Francis and he turned and saw Antonio, a boy who was his "friend", look at him worried.

Francis didn't have friends. Nobody liked him. Phrases like fag, or any other slurs were thrown at him daily. The only two people that bothered to talk to him was a popular spainyard named Antonio and his best friend Gilbert, and a shy boy who was barely noticed named Matthew.

"Are you...okay?" He asked. Antonio had a real strong Spanish accent. He recently moved from Spain last year, actually. Sometimes his English lacked.

Francis rested his cheek in his calm, looking at Alfred out of the corner of his eye, and then looked at Antonio, and nodded. "Yes. Thank you for worrying though, Mon Cheri."

Antonio looked at Alfred and said, "You looked at Alfred," he observed. "Weird how he was missing for two weeks, and then came back, no explanation and joyful as ever, huh?"

Guilt washed over Francis and covered his face up, suddenly feeling sick the image of what happened two weeks ago playing in his brain like a movie. He moaned.

"Are you sure? You don't look well." Antonio rubbed Francis' back. Even though they weren't close friends, he was caring.

Francis ran a hand through his long blonde hair and nodded. "Of course," he took Antonio's off his back. "Just...remembering something."

Before Antonio replied, an annoyed Italian named Lovino Vargas stomped up behind Antonio and flicked the back of his head. Antonio turned around and started happily chatting to Lovino, completely forgetting about Francis.

"Bastardo, I am out of lunch money and I am hungry. Give me food!" Demanded Lovino. Antonio nodded happily and gave Lovino the rest of his sandwich.

Lovino was about to eat his sandwich when he noticed Francis. "Oi, what's the French bastard here for? Shoo!" He waved Francis off, and went to eating.

Francis glared sharply at Lovino, but sighed and grabbed his bag and slumped out of the cafeteria.

However, as he left he noticed Alfred wasn't eating hamburgers. Just sipping at his coke.

Alfred must've noticed his stares because he stared right back at Francis, eyebrows raising as if saying, "Who are YOU staring at?"

Francis shook his head and left the cafeteria and walked down the empty hallway silently and slipped in the girl's bathroom.

The girls liked him. The popular girls didn't pick on him, unlike the guys. They loved to do his hair, apply makeup, and put him in dresses.

100% was Francis a boy, but he absolutely loved dressing up as a girl, and sometimes felt like a girl, but he was mentally and physically a boy.

Michelle, a tan skinned girl from Seychelles was washing her hands but stopped when she saw Francis. She smiled broadly at him. "Hey Francis!" She greeted and dried her hands off.

"Bonjour," he greeted with a soft smile and leaned against the wall and took a cigarette out of his bag. A habit he picked up on in middle school.

Middle School, 7th grade to be specific, was when he started to get bullied. He had no coping mechanism, and he wasn't going to be whiny and slice his flesh open.

Others did that enough to him already.

So he picked up a pack of cigars from a random kid at his school, and that's what started the habit.

Michelle grimaced. "Why must you insist on smoking?" She complained and slung her bag over her shoulders. "I'm going to skip school. Come with?"

In school, Michelle was a sweetheart cheerleader, but outside she had piercings and she actually had tattoos that were covered up with makeup in school.

Francis put the cigarette out and flushed it down a toilet. "Sure," he answered and followed Michelle out the backdoor.

Teachers pretty much...what do you call it? Sucked? Yes, sucked, at the school.

They walked into the courtyard and they stared at all the flowers and shrubs.

The courtyard was their home away from home.

Michelle flopped down on a bench and Francis sat down beside her.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur Kirkland, a part of the school newspaper, took great interest in the quietness Alfred F. Jones, and decided to question him. Maybe even add it as a column, since he knew he wasn't the only curious one.

Alfred fiddled with his keys and opened his car door before Arthur tapped his shoulder, and Alfred squeaked and whirled around. For a split second, Arthur could've sworn fear was in his eyes.

Arthur eyed the large red, muddy truck. "You usually walk home," he observed.

Alfred ignored the observation and said, "What do you need Arthur? Usually you don't talk to me. Or at least, without insulting me." Venom dripped in his voice.

 _What got his panties in a twist?_ Snapped Arthur in his mind. _Alfred never is this snippy, he would normally cheerfully ask me what I needed..After I normally insult him. Gotta give him that._

Arthur is the only one who can argue with a popular kid without being attacked. It was because he wasn't in a category. He wasn't popular, nor was he an outcast. Probably because he had power, being the president of the newspaper and all. Something nasty about someone could "accidentally" be placed in, and that student's reputation can be shattered.

Also Arthur and Alfred were childhood friends, but Arthur doesn't want to get into that. That's a story for another time.

Straightening his tie that was neatly tucked into his sweater vest, Arthur pulled out his pen and thoughtfully tapped it against his notepad. "I'd like to ask a few questions," he informed.

Alfred slammed his car door shut and leaned against it, sighing. "Make it quick. I have...homework."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You don't even do your homework!" He protested.

After not getting a reply, Arthur got to his questions: "What has affected you in the past 2 weeks?" He asked. By that he meant, why the Hell did he miss two weeks of school? Alfred wouldn't skip that long.

"You know what?" Alfred tugged his door open again. "I am going to ignore your questions, and go home!"

Arthur quickly slapped the door shut again. "Nope. You told me you'd answer them. We're doing this. Here and now, despite any protests!"

Alfred tried prying open the car door open, but Arthur leaned against it. Alfred glared sharply at him, but said nothing.

"Now," breathed Arthur. "Care to answer my question?"

"C-Can we skip this one? _Please_?" Begged Alfred.

Arthur raised a thick eyebrow. Alfred doesn't beg. Unless it was big.

"Fine," Arthur gave in and flipped a page in his notebook. "All right. What's with your lack of appetite?"

To be honest, Arthur probably wouldn't have put the answers in the newspaper, but now his curiousity rose.

Alfred eyed his car door handle, but Arthur stood his ground. "Not a lack of appetite. Tired of hamburgers," he answered. He almost sounded out of breath.

Arthur impatiently tapped his foot. "Sounds like bullshit," he began and uncapped his pen. "But I'll take it."

"Can I go now?" Asked Alfred grabbing at his door. Arthur sighed and let him climb in his car. The look in his eyes. It was almost frightened; like someone remembering a bad memory.

The truck turned on and started to drive away. Arthur watched it go down the road and disappearing as it rounded a corner.

"He looked worried," an unwanted French voice spoke behind him.

Huffing, Arthur whirled around to glare at Francis Bonnefoy. An outcast Frenchman who he absolutely hated. A knowing look shone in his eyes. "Ok," he just hummed.

Francis took a step towards Arthur, who couldn't help take a step back as well. "You should talk to him," suggested Francis, glancing down the street that Alfred's car went down.

"Why don't you?" retorted Arthur, shuffling his feet and closing his notepad and stuffed his pen in his pocket. "Anyhow, excuse me. I have a newspaper meeting, and afterwards a student council meeting."

Francis grabbed Arthur's arm in an iron grip as he tried to push past. "No. We are talking," he growled.

Never in Arthur's life has he seen Francis this serious, and they've known eachother their entire life. Another long story Arthur is too tired to get into. Stopping in his tracks, Arthur rolled in his eyes. "What, frog?"

Before Francis could say anything, Arthur leaned in close. So close their noses touched and they could feel eachother's hot breath on their faces. "Is...Is that..makeup?"

Arthur fell back, wheezing with laughter. "Oh! My...My...Oh my Lord!" Arthur started coughing from laughing too hard, and dropped his notepad. Struggling to pick it back up, Arthur wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh my...Okay...What were you s-saying?" He gasped and calmed down after what felt forever of laughing.

Francis glared at Arthur, however continued: "Watch Alfred. Because someone doesn't. He is a brat, but he needs comfort now," Francis said. And with one last glance at Arthur, Francis adjusted his backpack and went down the sidewalk to walk home.

Arthur stood there in confusion. Francis had a look of guilt. Did he do something to Alfred? Does he know what happened? Questions whirled around in his brain.

Re-Collecting himself, Arthur picked his notepad back up and walked to the school newspaper's office.


	3. Chapter 3

2 weeks ago Alfred felt normal.

Of course, he still feels normal.

Well, at least the most he can feel at the moment.

All he remembers is being harshly pulled behind some trashcans and around a corner. Jeans down, jacket unzipped, shirt up.

Then pain _pain_ _ **pain.**_

Alfred didn't bother catching who did it. What would be the moment? Yeah, like people would believe him. A star football GUY player getting raped in an alleyway? Sure. Real believable.

Today, he decided to tell his twin brother Matthew.

They didn't have the closest...Or really at all good relationship, but Alfred was sure sweet Matthew would understand. Matthew understands stuff like that, he's a bit of loner himself. Understanding harsh stuff is his thing!

Mrs. and Mr. Jones not at home, and both on business trips, Alfred decided home was the best place.

Matthew sat at his desk doing his homework, headphones on so loud Alfred could hear the faint guitar and singing through the speakers. As soon as Alfred closed the door behind him, Matthew set his pencil down, however didn't take off his headphones.

"Hey Mattie," Shakily began Alfred. His legs turned to jelly. Why was this so hard?

Matthew paused his song and took off his headphones. He silently turned to Alfred, eyebrows furrowed. "Excuse you? You never talk to me? I'm doing homework-" He gestured to his math homework, that was just doodled all over. "-What? Need money or something? Tough luck. Get a job."

Alfred choked back a sharp retort, and shifted his gaze to the suddenly interesting bed in the corner of Matthew's room.

Matthew was a simple boy. His walls were a milky white, a freshly vacuumed carpet, furniture that was so clean looking. His bedspread was the canadian flag, and that's basically all the decoration he had besides the two hockey sticks that he hung over his bed and the multiple hockey trophies in a display case by his closet.

Alfred deeply breathed in. It smelled like lavender. A bit of honey, too.

"N-no! Not at all," answered Alfred. He slowly walked to Matthew's bed and sat on it. It bounced slightly under his weight.

Matthew crossed his legs and sighed.

They both stared at eachother in silence before Matthew rolled his eyes. "Well? I don't have all day?"

Alfred blinked, not realising he spaced out. This was harder than he thought.

Before he walked in, he had the entire conversation they'd have planned out in his head.

However for once in his life Alfred had nothing to say. But he always has _something to say._

"I was..." Alfred gulped. "R-Raped?" It came out as a question.

Matthew growled in his throat. "That's why you disrupted me Alfred? To tell a lie?" Matthew put his headphones back on. "Alfred, everyone knows men can't get raped. I knew you were an attention whore but this is ridiculous." As Matthew turned his music back on, he pointed to the door.

Alfred choked on his on breath as he searched for something to say. Anything at all. But Matthew just kept his finger at the exit as his other hand wrote down equations.

Tears stung at his usually bright blue eyes, now dull and lifeless. "T-Thanks for listening," offered Alfred before quietly closing the door behind him as he exited.

Not knowing what to do, Alfred slumped downstairs, tiredly pulling his red converse on and slipping in his bomber jacket.

When Alfred was around hmm...6. Yes. About 6, Alfred's grandfather gave him a bomber jacket. On the back it had a large 50 on the back. Why it had a 50? He wasn't told. Just his grandfather told him his dad gave it to him, and he wanted Alfred to have it, saying Mr. Jones refused it. The jacket was large and dangled to his ankles, but now (even though it still was a bit large!) it was more snug, and he almost always wore it when he went out.

It had the smell and oil, and even faint blood on it. Maybe donuts and grease, too. It was never washed. But Alfred loved the smell, even if it smelled worse than a field of shit, he would never let it go..Or wash it.

Cold air hit his cheeks, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked down the sidewalk. He was afraid. What if it happens again?

 _No._ He firmly told himself. _You're a hero! Heroes aren't afraid, and heroes certainly don't get raped either!_

Suddenly, a French accent called out to him.

 _French?_ Alfred pondered to himself as he whirled around. Running up to him...Was Francis? Francis Bonnefoy? French kid who was constantly bullied?

Francis' hair was pulled in a ponytail that bounced as he bounded up to Alfred. He wore a long, fluffy pink coat that went to his knees and black leggings and Ugg boots. A long scarf went down to his waist was wrapped around his neck.

"Dude, you look like a girl!" Alfred rudely commented.

Francis looked down at himself, and quietly murmured to himself before scratching his chin. "It's more comfortable and cuter than men's clothes! Though some of it is quite fashionable," the last part was quietly added to himself. He thought for a moment before adding, "You are so tacky! What's with zat jacket?"

Francis was tugging at Alfred's sleeve before he pulled it away. "It's a jacket from World War II. My grandfather gave it to me," he defencively replied.

Shuffling his feet awkwardly, Francis apologised. "Well, why are you out?" He asked as he kicked at some frozen ice on the ground.

Alfred tugged at his collar, realising he had tears slowly dripping down his cheeks. "T-thinking," he coughed out.

Francis frowned and took a small step towards Alfred. "Alfred?"

"Go away," Alfred growled. "You're an outcast. Nobody likes you Francis. So please humour me: why are you talking to me?"

"So defencive!" Sighed out Francis dramatically. "I saw you. I know you. Why not talk to you?"

Alfred started to walk away. Francis stayed put. "I don't feel like talking!" He called over his shoulder and hurried his pace.


	4. Chapter 4

This wasn't normal. And by the second, Francis' guilt grew. Should he tell someone? Comfort Alfred?

The poor boy. The kid talks less.

Alfred is one of the loudest kids in the room. You'd have to be deaf to not hear him, and now he's barely even heard.

Also Alfred looked wearier. Bags formed under his eyes, his skin went from a glowing tan to a sickly pale. Even his hair didn't look as...Floofy.

Floofy? Is that a word? Francis still hasn't gotten the hang of English completely yet.

Ah, maybe he should use fluffy?

Oh well.

"I wonder what happen to him," murmured Francis to himself as he laid eagle spread across his couch. He flipped through the pages of the magazine, bored out of his mind. "Does Antonio have his number? Heh. Probably does!"

Francis sat up and awkwardly stretched for his phone. As he was about to text Antonio for Alfred's phone number, he noticed he got a text from Ivan Braginsky.

Braginsky was a kid you didn't wanna mess with. He's a big boy from Russia, and fucking terrifying. The kid probably was like 5 foot in kindergarten. Right now he probably stands around 6 foot 3? 4? Either way, he's tall, and freaky.

Ivan also has this problem with Alfred. Why? No idea. Probably because Alfred attacks him everytime they even cross eachother's path.

 _Fix him. Or else! :)_

"Why does the Russian sign his name? I know it's him," muttured Francis, but a chill went down his spine. Ivan apparently noticed something was wrong with Alfred. "I don't want to be killed! But how do I fix this?" He wailed.

"I can't go back in time!" Complained Francis as he went to his kitchen to get a glass of wine. Who cares if he's legal or not? This is serious!

Francis sipped at it, leaning against the island kitchen counter.

Francis lived in a small apartment. His parents were back in France, leaving him and his cousin who lives hours away to send him money when Francis needs it. The only reason Francis even has this apartment.

It was nice, considering how cheap it was and it was in an awful area.

"Should I try to befriend him and slowly wiggle my way in? Then confront him when he's comfortable?" He pondered, taking another sip. He grimaced. This is NOT good wine. "Stupid cheap-ass wine," he grumbled, dumping it in the rusted sink.

Francis hurried into his room and rumaged in his closet before dressing himself in a suit. "I shall take Alfred to dinner tonight, whether he likes it or not!" Declared Francis and fixed his hair.

"Where should I take him?" He murmured to himself. "Surely not McDonalds, it's just greasy shit."

Francis grabbed his wallet, with only twenty dollars. He stared inside it before quickly dialling his cousin's number.

" _Bonjour, quel es-il?" (_ Hello, what is it?)

" _Salut...Comment allez-vous?"_ Greeted Francis. (Hey! How are you?)

Francis' cousin (his name Louis), smiled in his tone. " _Bonjour! Bonjour! Qu'est-ce qu'il vous faut-il?"_ (Hello! Hello! What is it do you need?)

Francis awkwardly coughed. "Ahem, Ah.. _Partager votre argent?"_ He nervously asked. Louis has given him a lot of money in the past which a lot Francis blew on wine, smokes, and clothes. Not his rent, which he desperately needs to pay for, and school supplies. (Erm...Care to share your money?)

" _Avez-vous passé tout à nouveau?"_ Louis shreiked in wonder. Probably on how a boy can blow off so much money in...When was the last time he gave Francis money? Two weeks? Yes. Two weeks. (Did you spend it all again?)

Francis nodded. Even though Louis couldn't see him, he knew Louis already knew the answer, from the way he sighed and rummaged around.

" _Combien?"_ Asked Louis, sounding muffled. (How much?)

Francis furrowed his eyebrows. How much DID he need? Alfred probably would eat a lot. "600, _veuillez,"_ He answered. (600, please.)

Louis coughed loudly. " _600? Qu'est-ce que vous dépenser cet argent sur, mon garçon?"_ He said, voice raising in pitch. (600? What are you spending this money on, boy?)

" _Une date,"_ shyly answered Francis. Well at least, he hopes it's a date. Not because he likes Alfred. Just...Guilt. (A date.)

Louis sighed. _"Aussi longtemps qu'il en vaut la peine,"_ he answered after a pause of silence, and Francis mentally cheered. " _Il sera sur votre compte en banque. Si vous allez utiliser l'argent comptant, désolé, vous devez vous servir de crédit." (_ As long as it is worth it. It will be on your bank account. If you were going to use cash, sorry, you have to use credit.)

" _Je vous remercie beaucoup!"_

 _"Ouais ouais. Appelez-moi plus tard. Bonne nuit Francis,"_ louis breathed, as if exasperated.

" _Bien sûr. Bonne nuit, Louis."_

Francis quickly hung up with a smile. Perfect! And he'll probably have some money left over for some smokes, or anything extra.

Slipping his shoes on, Francis grabbed his credit card, stuffing it in his wallet that he put in his pocket along with his phone.

Before Francis opened his door, he froze. "Where does he live again?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Francis pulled out a cigarette from the packet and lit it, watching the stars.

Beside him, Alfred awkwardly stood, watching him smoke. He agreed to the dinner Francis offered, to his surprise. "How long have you smoked?" Blurted Alfred, breaking the awful, unwanted silence.

"A while."

That was Alfred's que not to push any farther, bringing them back to the quietness.

"Why'd you bring me to dinner?" Asked Alfred leaning against the railing of the balcony they stood on.

Francis breathed out a puff of smoke. Alfred grimaced, but said nothing. "I know you've been through a lot," admitted Francis. "But of course what I know is none of your business."

Alfred huffed. "It should be!"

Dropping the cigarette and stomping it out, Francis clapped his hands together and smiled. "It shan't."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "'shan't?'" he echoed in amusement.

"Shouldn't and can't," informed Francis, smoothing out his pants who were wrinkled up from sitting for a long period of time. "Want me to reiterate, just in case?"

The two stared at eachother, Alfred's blue eyes twinkling with curiosity and amusement. After a long moment, Francis looked away and opened the door back into the unusually empty resteraunt. "Care to head back in?"

"Ahem...Uh...Yeah," awkwardly cough Alfred and he slid in and Francis followed after, shutting the door behind him.

This moment is bittersweet. Sweet in the way Francis might be able to comfort the boy, bitter as in it's uncomfortable and Alfred went through a trauma that he doesn't know that Francis knows.

Do you see his problem?

"What's your last name?" Suddenly asked Alfred as they left the resteraunt. Francis froze. What a random question.

"Bonnefoy," he answered and starting leading them down the sidewalk. "Yours?"

Of course he knows Alfred's last name. It's just to keep the conversation going.

"Full name is Alfred F. Jones. You got a middle name?"

Francis shook his head and instead asked, "What does the F. stand for?"

Alfred grinned cheekily. "It's there so I can yell, "I am Alfred fucking Jones!" He yelled.

Pedestrians walking past either snickered or shot Alfred dirty looks, but he ignored them, but Francis silently apologised to them as he blushed. "I-Interesting."

Alfred tugged at the sleeves of his jacket. "In reality, only my brother and my parents of course know my middle name. Not a privelege I grant to many."

"Not any," Mused Francis to himself, scratching at his chin.

"You could say," said Alfred, smiling to himself.

Francis watched cars go past them as a light breeze blew Francis' hair. "You smile a lot," observed Francis. It was good. Something he hasn't seen Alfred do in a while.

Alfred shrugged. "Life's too short to frown. I heard it takes more muscles to frown that smile: so less effort too!" He answered, pushing up his glasses. "We all run out of time."

That was something a bit grim for such a happy boy.

Francis left the conversation end, and they walked in silence, Francis put his hands in his pockets, seaching for warmth. Francis watched Alfred, and saw the frown on his lips. Francis quietly commented, "When you think someone is looking away, you're sad."

Alfred either didn't hear him or chose to ignore it.

They soon arrived at Alfred's house, which was actually very close to the resteraunt. Considering they were in the city part where they lived. Well...The closest thing to a city this town could have.

They stopped on the sidewalk in front of it and Alfred dipped his head. "T-Thanks," he quietly said. So quiet, Francis strained to hear. "I needed ," he whispered and darted into his house.

Francis stood there for a few moments, before continuing his way home. He secretly prayed he told someone so he got the help he needed at home.

Why couldn't he just confront Alfred about it?

 **A/N: Hey, can you guys please give me suggestions on what you want to see? Like any characters you want to pop in, what you want Francis to do about Alfred's situation, get things angstier or have it get better. Or even have Francis have his own problems? Basically any suggestions except the pairing (Because the pairing is France and America! My children, haha!)**


	6. Chapter 6

According to the school newspaper, Alfred had a football game tonight.

Kiku Honda rolled up to paper and stuffed it in his backpack, silently watching the boy trudge down the hallway. As being someone who prided themselves in being able to read the atmosphere, he knew something was wrong.

Staying put, he watched Alfred fiddle with his wallet and took out a dollar bill and hurried to the vending machine and got a bottle of water. Alfred unscrewed the cap and started chugging it, looking around warily.

It's just school. It's not like Alfred gets bullied everyday...So why on edge?

"A-Alfred!" Called Kiku, slinging his bag over his shoulder and going over to the boy as he dropped the empty bottle in the trashcan.

Alfred jumped, but loosened up when he saw his best friend, Kiku. Or at least, used to be.

In fact, before highschool Alfred had a lot of best friends. Why he lost them? Well, Alfred doesn't slow down. He doesn't wait for people to catch up. Is it unfair? No. So why should he care who he leaves behind?

Or at least, that's what he was taught.

About 7th grade Alfred was gaining popularity. You wouldn't believe him if he told you he was a chubby kid with cheeto stains on his superhero or video game shirts. He had awful grades, and acne on his round face. One thing he misses though is he had more friends then, surprisingly. People now are just wannabe populars trying to climb the social ladder.

However Alfred realised everyone's going to be popular, soon get girlfriends and boyfriends, gain traits and skills, and leave Alfred behind. So why not do that before everyone else? He worked out 24/7, studied more, got glasses so he could see better, and cleaned himself more often. He even ditched the video games. It also helped getting onto the football team.

"You are jumpy," commented Kiku quietly. "Are you alright?"

Alfred rubbed his neck, thinking of what to say. Finally he replied, "I am fine. Tired, actually."

They went silent, Kiku awkwardly looking up at Alfred, opening and closing his mouth not knowing what to say.

"Long time no see," nervously chuckled Alfred and stared out the many windows in the hallways. He eyed the door that led to the courtyard.

Kiku nodded as he looked at his feet. "How have you been?"

Stupid question. Obviously with popularity he was doing great. However he missed the nerdy, silly, unpopular Alfred. Selfish, but he wasn't going to lie to himself.

Alfred's eyes widened and he chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with something without actually lying to Kiku. He'd feel bad. "I've had better days," he admitted.

"Want to talk about-" Kiku was cut off by Francis coming up, a large grin on his face.

"Hello!" greeted Francis, slinging an arm around KIku, who grimaced. "How are you two?"

Kiku wiggled away from Francis, glaring at him. It was as if he barged in on purpose! Did he? "F-Fine," he snapped, trying to sound nice as he took a step away from the Frenchman.

Alfred shrugged. "Been better," he said.

Francis nodded, keeping his eyes set on Alfred. "Why are you here still? It's still school!"

Narrowing his eyes, Kiku replied, "It's Alfred's football game tonight. He's probably here, about to go to practice. And I will be cheering him on."

Kiku never liked Francis. He seemed rude, flamboyant, and too flirtatious for his liking. Not to add he was weird with the way he would wear a dress and makeup one day and the next day dress more like...Lovino, for example. It was odd. Also, Kiku had a suspecting feeling Francis didn't like him either.

"Oui!"

Alfred and Kiku both gave Francis a questioning look.

"I said Oui!" Repeated Francis. "I will be there!"

"Er...Yeah. Thanks Francis." And with one last look to both of them, Alfred scurried off. Probably to his locker room.

When the two were sure the boy was gone, they turned to each other. "You seem to know what's up," they said at the same time.

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Non. Non. You go first."

Kiku kept his voice steady, yet it was quiet. "There's something wrong! You obviously know it."

Something flashed in Francis' eyes Kiku couldn't quite catch. Was it...Guilt?

"I do know things," slowly began Francis. "Alfred doesn't know I know it, too. But when he's ready he'd tell you, as the same with me. Listen closely Kiku: He. Has. Been. Through. Some. Hell."

With a warning glare, Francis walked out the hallway to the courtyard, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Kiku flushed red as he puffed out his cheeks. "I was right! He is rude."

Staring at the exit door for a minute, Kiku sighed and went off to his locker.

Hunched over his toilet, Francis gagged. He was clean for six months, why did he have to be so stupid as to-

Bile rose in his throat and Francis coughed out into the toilet. Francis fell back against the cabinets and choked on spit. Tears pricking at his eyes, Francis rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand.

When Francis was bullied, Francis' weight was commonly picked at. The bully? His parents. This also adds to why Francis commonly wore feminine clothes. His mom wanted a daughter so she treated him like one. Forced him to grow his hair out, wear dresses and making, even scolded him like a daughter. It didn't help Francis held an attraction to men.

Except this "scolding" wasn't scolding. It was flat out insulting Francis. This resorted to an eating disorder. How he lasted this long? He had no idea. Antonio found out, and helped Francis for about a year, and the dread of eating always lingered around Francis. However he was clean for so long…

What triggered this? Francis had no idea. He tied his long hair back, and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. It hit him: Earlier when he got in the fight with Kiku. Could that have? If so, why?

"D-Don't cry," Francis told himself. However he couldn't help but let the tears fall. When was the last time he cried?

Francis cussed at himself in French. "Stupid! You're so selfish. You're fine. You...You are not def-defined by...by.. Weight!" He bawled, trying to calm himself down.

Francis shakily rose to his feet and forced himself to get a glass of water to calm down. He looked around. He needs to get out of this tiny ass apartment. But where to? Certainly not back to France.

Long ago when Francis moved here, he had nothing. His determination and a suitcase was all he had. Not knowing where to move, he decided to find a cheap place close to his cousin. This shit apartment was the closest and cheapest.

There was multiple reasons as to why he moved. One reason is the constant picking he had in France. From his parents and fellow kids at school. Apparently the lack of friends is common, though. When Francis first came, he had to resort to prostitution. In fact, back in France Francis had moved around a lot, too. Being poor is also a common theme. As is prostitution. It's dirty and awful, but it feeds him and manages his life.

Thankfully that's long ago and usually gets loans from his cousin until he gets to college and gets his life together.

Dumping the glass into the sink, Francis rubbed at his eyes. Promising himself he will get through life.


End file.
